


"You Idiot."

by 9240Lena



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Caring John, Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, John Doesn't Mind, John Watson is a Saint, Kind of works, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Language, Mild Lisping, Mild Mentions of Drugs, Penetrative Sex Toy, Shameless Smut, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Sherlock Plots, Sherlock Tries At Seduction, Slight Misunderstandings, Smut, Top John Watson, at least not yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 11:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1646270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9240Lena/pseuds/9240Lena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock accidentally smashes his experiment and John thinks he hurt himself. Sherlock didn't, but well enough to put on a little show for John.<br/>John is a little slow with the uptake. But Sherlock is VERY visually persuasive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"You Idiot."

**Author's Note:**

> First time publishing! Something I had in mind for quite sometime. 
> 
> Not Beta read.  
> Not Brit-picked.
> 
> ONWARDS!
> 
> LOG: 09/11/14, did a little editing. Deleted a few sentences, edited out the boo boos (SO MUCH. I'm sorry you guys have to read through all that, I did read through before I posted but they just slipped me by. Apologies.) Thank you for all the kudos and lovely comments, not to forget the bookmarks. They make me crazy with happiness.

John was firstly aware of the soft firm mattress he is sleeping on as he was roused from his slumber by the loud sounds of clattering, and then loud angry curses followed by the acrid scent which he immediately identified as smoke.  _Sherlock never curses. Danger._

Shooting up from bed, John didn’t even think of shrugging on his dressing gown before barreling downstairs; his gun in his hand. He shot through the open kitchen door and was met with a steaming pile of unidentified experiments, the detective was holding a pipette in his left, his right hand pressed to his chest, looking enraged and disappointed at the same time. With no danger in sight, except for a consulting detective which is danger itself in human form; John lowered his gun and sighed.

“What a morning to wake up to,” John said, placing his gun on the side table, “Lemme see, did you hurt yourself?”

“No, I didn’t.” Sherlock said, celadon eyes taking in the sight of his flat mate,  _slept on his left, judging from the dried saliva stains. Had a very goodnight sleep; with the amount of wrinkles on his clothes indicated he didn’t toss much in his sleep, which meant no nightmares. No dressing gown today. Pupils are currently dilated; breathing heavy, eyes darting around; brought his gun down, typical defensive position, ready to engage in the offensive at the set of shoulders. On the lookout for threats. For his life? No. Relaxed upon sight of me, worried about me. What for? I’m in no danger._

_File access: John Watson._

_Major appealing traits: Has a bright sunny smile, makes good tea, has a slightly manipulative nature that he doesn’t know, prefers coffee on Monday mornings, no sugar, likes blond women, fancy his oatmeal jumper a lot, cares too muc-_

_Search narrowed down…- Sentiment towards others._

_??_

_Does he- towards me?_

_???_

_Data incomplete._

_Data needed._

Sherlock frowned and abruptly turned his back to John, his mind betraying him by pulling up the thoughts that distracted him so much.  _John Watson. Fluffy jumpers, tea and gunpowder, comfort, gentle yet firm, calloused hands, slightly rough, strong thighs, tanned skin, thin lips, has a reputation with women, known as Three-continents Watson during his army days. Captain John Watson. Formerly of the Fifth North- Abort!_

With the lack of follow up from the normally snappish detective, John sidestepped the man and went for a quick wash up. When he came back, Sherlock was on his knees, undertaking the task to clean up the chemical mess on their kitchen floor with a towel. Without him nagging at him to do so.

“You alright, Sherlock?” John asked, flipping the switch on the kettle and cracking the window open to let out the flumes that lingered in the air out, “You’re very quiet.”

Sherlock stilled, and then looked up from his kneeling position on the floor to glare at John for his idiocy, but any retort he had on his mind died on his lips when he looked up, which to his advantage gave him a very good view of the outline of John’s clothed, flaccid penis. Even when flaccid, John was thick; well endowed and when erect, he imagined John’s cock would be heavy, hot against his lips; pulsating. John would probably taste a little bitter but not unpleasant, hands would be in his hair, holding but not tugging, calloused fingers pressing against his scalp, firm and guiding. John would- Sherlock swallowed as his mind screeched to a sudden stop, eyes widening.

Sherlock groaned at such sudden descriptive thoughts of John, he doubled over to hide his rapidly coloring face as his cock stirred underneath his pyjamas pants. He didn't think before executing the action, but then regretted doing so as his actions seemed to be of in pain in John’s doctoring eyes.

“Sherlock! God damn it!” John exclaimed in alarm seeing his dear friend keel over. Fingers pressing to Sherlock’s neck over his pulse point, he noted the fast quickening beats, the redden flush in Sherlock's cheeks, and fast shallow breaths, strangled with soft groans. The skin under his fingers were too warm in his opinion, overwritten by worry, and against his own better judgment, taking into account the unpredictability of Sherlock, John decided to call an ambulance, “Hold on, we are going to the hospital.” John managed to locate the detective’s phone on the table and he was already dialing the number when the device was wrenched out of his hands and rudely thrown towards the living room.

“No!” Sherlock snarled, ripping his phone away from John as he stumbled up onto his feet, in his hurried clumsiness his arm knocked over the stack of books on the table, which brought the glassware tumbling down onto the floor, where it shattered against the tiles with a clear piercing sound, it's contents spilling onto the floor in rivulets. 

The experiments that he painstakingly conducted over the past few weeks were now gone, its results in its incomplete stage, and with that, all energy escaped Sherlock and he slumped against the wooden archway to the living room, his hands dangling at his sides.  _Today is the worst._   _My mind is taunting me at all times, my body is betraying me, and John is ever so caring. When I don’t deserve any of it, but I don’t dislike it. I like it when John fusses over me. Nags at me to eat, bribing me with those chocolate biscuits I like for a small favor, and makes cup after cup of perfect tea without me asking, I like it when he smiles at me, I like it when he compliments me, I like it when he always comes back even after we fight, I like it when John buys small knickknacks that he knows would interest me when he goes out shopping, I like it when he looks at me when he thinks I’m not looking, like I’m the most wonderful person in the worl-_

John watched silently as Sherlock stumbled away from him in an abnormally clumsy way that caused the demise of his beloved experiment, and when the detective slumped against the door, John almost rushed over to support him, but the look on Sherlock’s face stopped him in his tracks.

Sherlock looked utterly destroyed. Unlike the way when his experiments failed or when a criminal managed to outrun them, or when that very one time Mycroft still managed to lose a pound despite Sherlock sending him boxes and boxes of fine pastries and cakes from the patisserie Mycroft secretly patronizes. This was a look Sherlock wore once when he got a lapse in memory and assumed his mind was failing him, and that since his head is hurting so badly, it must be the collapse of his mind palace when it was only a nasty case of migraine. But that look, John didn’t want to see it again. It was awful and it made him feel hopeless and so very useless.

It scared him, and when he saw the same expression as before now, John feared the worst, “Oh Sherlock, we can fix this, let’s go to the hospital. They can help you there. Or at the very least, let me help you. What’s hurting right now? Is it your head again?” John stepped forward and pulled at the detective’s right hand to examine for burns, but there was nothing of that sort, not even a cut, only pale skin.

“There is no need.”Sherlock said firmly as he withdrew his hand from John grasp gently, but seeing the look of concern on John’s face, he continued on to reassure the doctor, “I’m fine. My temperature is fine, my head is fine, and everything is fine.”

John bristled with a sudden surge of anger, “This is not a time to be fooling around, if it hurts, it’s your body’s way of telling you something is wrong, and-”

“Nothing hurts.” Sherlock interrupted, “If I’m hurting I would tell you, that’s our agreement, now if you excuse me, I’m going to bed.”

With a dramatic swish of his dressing gown, the detective was gone, closing the door to his room with a soft click. John stood in their shared kitchen, wondering what the hell just happened as the kettle clicked. 

* * *

Back in the privacy of his room, and he made sure he closed the door in a certain way that would slip open slowly by time, giving it a false sense of security John would certainly expect from him at the moment. 

Sherlock shed his dressing gown and divested himself of all clothes, pulling back the covers of his bed, he clambered up, positioning himself on the center of his bed, he slipped his hand beneath the pillows and produced a dildo. It was custom made, thick, and human like. It’s a well kept secret; he was in fact, quite a sexual person and could never achieve sexual release without anal stimulation, and the fantasy that brought him off so many times was somehow John related.

Today is the day he plan to engage John fully after cataloging the signs John laid out before him all these times; those little small gestures that he never paid any mind to, but if this plan backfires, and that he over-thought John’s intentions, he could take this as John walking in on him in a private moment, and they would revert back to their old patterns, albeit a little awkwardly. If it was a success, then all is well. And he is hoping for the latter result.

With that thought in mind, he stuffed a pillow under his arse and pulled his legs to his chest, it was a little uncomfortable to work the dildo in and out of him, but in this position, he was the most sensitive, and thoughts of John walking in on him pleasuring himself in such a way struck him with a chord of arousal.

Slicking up his sexual aid, he pressed it into him with a low moan, his toes curling at the sensation.

* * *

John sipped at his mug of tea as he tried to finish the novel he was reading for the past twenty minutes, but failed to neither concentrate nor process the words. With a groan of frustration he snapped the hardback close, ears straining for any sound in the silence of the flat. It was frustratingly silent, Mrs. Hudson was away to her sister’s, and Sherlock is apparently sleeping, as there were no sounds coming from the room not far behind him.

He pushed himself up from his armchair and made his way to the kitchen to fix himself an early lunch when he caught the low tremble of a moan. John tensed; his hand stilling on the handle of the fridge and he listened. A second later, it came again. This time, a whimper that sounded painful.  _That idiot of a genius, in pain after all._

John abandoned all thoughts on food and silently made his way to Sherlock’s room when he heard his name, whispered in a deep trembling baritone that would be arousing if Sherlock was not in whatever pain he is now. He stepped closer to the slightly opened door and peeked in, hopefully Sherlock was dressed and unconscious, so he wouldn’t need to argue with the stubborn man to haul him off to the hospital.

Sherlock was not unconscious and not dressed, not in the very least, and certainly not in pain, John is sure of that.

The detective was in the nude, his bum raised with a pillow stuffed underneath, long pale legs folded to his heaving chest, hands strained around working a vibrating dildo into him in a fast pace; making the softest, most arousing little keens and whimpers. From his position at the door, John could see the way the thick sexual aid press in, and pulled out, then in again, he noted attentively that Sherlock’s breathing pitched, and the detective worked the aid faster inside him; the skin colored surface of the dildo shiny with-

“Oh christ,” Desire flooded him as John felt himself react to the arousing sight of Sherlock pleasuring himself in such a way. John he didn’t realize he spoke until the beautiful man turned to him in reaction to his voice, and the look of his face…A flattering blush painted those pale cheeks, pink cupid bow lips were moist and his eyes, normally sharp with its harsh intensity, were glazed and open, staring right at him, unfocused with his pupils dilated. Sherlock looked very young, and very ravishing in the most indecent way. His now fully erect cock gave a twitch of interest and John flustered with a reply, “Oh fuck. Sorry Sher-“

“J-J- _John_!” Sherlock gave a strangled cry, arching up, trembling as he came onto his stomach in sporadic spurts, his hands shook and he pressed the dildo deeper inside, coaxing a last weak spurt of translucent white. He moaned and shuddered as he painted his abdomen with ribbons of semen, all the while basking from the attention John is giving him.

John stared, eyes wide as Sherlock sagged back into the mattress, hands flopping down at his sides; satisfied, and glowing with a light sheen of sweat, the thick sexual aid still buried inside him; buzzing softly. John then realized Sherlock came by anal stimulation; he didn’t touch his cock at all.

_Holy…_

“John?” At the sound of his name, John jerked and raised his downcast eyes towards the figure on the bed.

“Right, right. I’ll leave now. Sorry to intrude on your…err…private moment.” John turned to leave, hand already on the door knob when Sherlock’s soft voice stopped him.

“You idiot.”

“What?”

Sherlock sniffed, his wide eyes starting to tear, and his bottom lip quivered slightly, “You idiot.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s why you’re an idiot.” Sherlock said, easing the sexual aid out of him with a slight shudder, with a flick of his finger, he turned the buzzing off and threw it aside, “I thought I would show you with actions instead of words.”

“I still don’t understand.” John watched as Sherlock eased his legs back down, feet planted flat on the bed, knees bend, thighs spread open; his bum still raised on that white pillow.

“Come here.”

“W-what? Sorry? What? Why?”

John watched as Sherlock blinked and his gaze sharpened, before he started rambling off deductions at the speed of a semi-automatic rifle. His arousal, his stance, and his posture indicated he desired him, which was true, and that it was reciprocated.

“Come here and  _fuck_  me already.” Sherlock said, running a hand down his thigh and down to spread his arse cheeks, “I’ve already prepared myself for you,  _Captain_.”

John swallowed and choked at his title used in this context, but his upper body inched forward as he bit out, “Is this an experiment? Are you playing with me? Because I  _swear_  this is-”

Sherlock huffed, insulted, “Are you even listening? I just told you I would like to have sex with you, and that I would like to upgrade our current status. Now, don’t make me go over there and get you.”

John took a step forward and the coy smile on Sherlock’s face killed all thoughts of hesitations. Sherlock squirmed when John lifted a knee up onto the bed, eyes dilating as he approached.

“You’re impossible,” John murmured as he knelt before Sherlock’s spread thighs, noting Sherlock was erect, pink and long and beautiful, his stomach stained with translucent ribbons of his recent release, “You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”

Sherlock preened at the praise and resisted the urge to squirm once again. He felt the flush in his cheeks grow hot and felt really embarrassed, but John didn't mind; blue eyes roaming up and down his body, pupils dilated as he gazed upon him with wonder and awe, but made no move to touch him. Sherlock squirmed enticing, spreading his legs to part arse cheeks a little more and watched John’s fingers twitch at his sides, eyes darting up to meet his eyes.

“It’s rude to stare,” Sherlock huffed impatiently, but his tone was teasing, “Just touch me already. My hands are tired, John. John. John. Don’t act like you’re ignoring me. I know you're not. John. John. JAWNNNN- _Ah!"_

“I was waiting for you to squirm beneath my gaze,” John smiled, palming Sherlock’s erection, rubbing thick head softly, spreading the beading pre-cum around with his thumb, circling and then trailed a finger down to the base, where he fondled the full sacks, drinking in the sound of whimpers, “And you did very well. _Well done._ ”

Sherlock muffled a moan at the praise, and batted his eyelashes at the ex-military doctor, he revelled the way John's admiring gaze darken into something more, and he heaved his legs to his chest and then cupped his plush bum, inviting the doctor's gaze to his stretched hole. His cheeks stained red at the sultry act, but the look on John's face was worth it.

Running a hand down the back of Sherlock’s thigh, he revelled at the feeling of the firm muscles under soft smooth skin beneath his palm, then his eye caught the dildo Sherlock used to pleasure himself on the bed, its size and length staring right back at him. He took it and felt the texture of it wrapped in his hand, the heaviness of it in his palm, “This is obviously custom made…you _naughty_ boy.” John teased, running a finger around the relaxed ring muscle of Sherlock’s exposed hole, pleased when it twitched and Sherlock’s breathing picked up, “And you have it in you, took it all in…Did it feel good?”

“Yes, it felt real,” Sherlock answered, lifting his hips to press John’s finger in him, whimpering when it slipped into him; John’s finger curled a little, massaging slightly, “But this feels better… _oh!_  Much better…J- _john!"_ The finger in him was removed and he moaned its loss, he glanced up and met John’s shuttered expression.

“Are you-?”

John didn’t need to finish his sentence for Sherlock to understand what he was trying to imply. Schooling his expression, Sherlock bit out a scathing retort, “I didn’t realize you were the type of man to mind if his bed partner was still a virgin or not, seeing you have slept with so many women during our cohabitation. Does that make me a used person? Since you were not the one to take my virginity? I’d overestimated you, John Watson.” Arousal flagging and anger coursing, Sherlock moved to remove himself from John’s presence, only to have his arm grasped in a hold when he was slipping out of bed. Back turned, he felt the warmth of John’s body behind him.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I don’t mind, if you are...not…I don’t mind at all. I was just jealous, knowing someone out there…managed to share your first experience and is not with you now. Giving your first to someone would have meant you trusted them, but since I’ve come to live here, you have not been in contact with anyone except the ones we both know…I’m just worried…concerned about you. I don't know what made me say that...just...delete it. Alright?”

Sherlock sighed. Anger leaving him as quickly as it came, and he was surprised he didn’t doubt John’s words at all. Leaning back against John, he murmured, “It was all in the past; Uni.” John’s arm came round, and pulled him back against the warmth of John’s chest. Sherlock felt safe, like he always do when it came to John Watson. John is safety; comfort.

“He must be an idiot.” John murmured into his hair, “To overlook your brilliance.”

Sherlock smiled, gently removing John’s arms around him to turn around to face the ex-army doctor, “Yes, in a way. Quite.”

“But no matter, I’m not leaving you.” John said with conviction, openly staring at the face before him which he found himself doing so as secretly as he could during their times together; at crime scenes, during dinner, at home or when Sherlock was experimenting and doing whatever he found fascinating enough to garner his attention, but now, there was no need to hide.

“I know you won’t.”

Sherlock met his gaze almost demurely under his long lashes. And Sherlock was the most gorgeous man he ever laid eyes on. John was struck with a surge of overwhelming protectiveness towards the man like never before, and he made a low noise in his throat when Sherlock reached up to pull him down for a chaste kiss.

“Are you always this slow with bedding all your dates?” Sherlock whispered against John’s lips, celadon colored eyes staring into wide blues.

“No, I’m not. But this is your fault,” John said and pressed his lips against full plush ones, “You distracted me.”

Sherlock smiled, hearing the unspoken words in John's reply,  _you’re much more beautiful than them,_ “You’re very generous with your compliments, John.”

“Do you hate it?” John asked hesitantly, Sherlock hummed, threading hands into his short hair, distracting him momentarily with the tingling sensation.

“Of course not,” Sherlock said, reclining back onto the bed and stuffing the white pillow back under his bum, he shuffled his body down a little to get comfortable, and then spread his thighs apart in invitation, “Now with misunderstandings aside, quickly strip and touch me."

“Bossy peacock.” John gave Sherlock a peck on the lips, then removed himself momentarily to divest himself of his clothes before climbing back up towards Sherlock. Slicking up their cocks with a bottle of lube, John lowered himself down between Sherlock’s spread thighs, grinding, and rubbing their cocks together; warming the slick lube. He did it again and again until Sherlock was fully erect and moaning the softest sighs under him, hands clutching at his biceps; lips searching for his own, tongue peeking out between kissed swollen lips to meet his.

John caressed and kissed, fingers trailing, tongue following, he circled Sherlock’s wet slippery hole with his thumb, relishing the sharp intake of breath and a shuddery moan as he pressed the digit into the wet heat. Sherlock was already stretched, ready for him, but he didn’t want this to end yet, hence he put off penetration despite his prick aching painfully, pre-cum dribbling down his length.

“John! Leave off the foreplay!” Sherlock whined, hands fisting his pillow under his head, almost in tears when John stubbornly refused to penetrate him, antagonizing him by sliding the blunt head of his cock over his hole again and again, just probing not entering, it drove him mad, “If you don’t fuck me now, I  _will_  flip you over and fuck myself over your cock  _right_  this _inst-Unh!_   _J_ - _john_!  _Oh!"_

John relented upon hearing the threats, he knew Sherlock had enough, and the man looked to be on the verge of tears with his eyes glassy and wide, lips in a full pout; bottom lip quivering. Sherlock was the most fucking beautiful thing he has ever seen, with his hands fisting his pillow, legs tucked to his chest, bum raised and presenting himself to him on a lube stained pillow, and when he pushed in, the moan that was ripped from Sherlock’s throat was cock twitching.

Sherlock took him in smoothly to the base of his cock, his balls resting against Sherlock’s smooth bum, the slick walls around his prick twitched and tightened, “Oh Sherlock,” John gave a little thrust, eliciting a low groan from Sherlock and the sound coupled with the tightening around his cock sent tingles up his spine, “You feel so very good.”

“Move,” Sherlock growled, still managing to look commanding with his flushed cheeks, dilated pupils and a weeping prick between his legs, “Or I’ll take charge.”

John huffed, grabbing hold of Sherlock’s hips and pulling him forward towards him, pushing Sherlock’s legs apart he grind his cock deeper inside as he adjusted his position slightly, satisfied when Sherlock mewled in response, spreading his legs further apart to welcome him in.

Sherlock grunted, pressing back against John’s cock, contracting his arse muscles for a second, “Now, move.”

John growled at the command and snapped his hips forward, the harsh sound of flesh slapping against flesh clapped in his ears, overlaying the whimpers and moans coming from Sherlock below him. The cacophony of such noises, common in those porn videos he had in his laptop, sounded different in this context. Because they were not high pitched and cliché, but low and deep, vibrating through his person, this is Sherlock making sex noises, and it was hot as hell.

“ _Unh!_   _J-John!_   _G-good!"_  Sherlock pulled his arse cheeks apart for John to fuck him deeper, he felt so full, so good, he could feel John’s cock pulsating and throbbing in him, every drag and push was marvellous and the blunt head of John’s prick was hitting that sweet spot inside him. It was electrifying, the sensation tingling and made his skin rise with goose-bumps, he parted his lips and moaned his pleasure; shuddering.

If he was a little loose lipped at the moment, Sherlock didn't care, all he cared was for John to fuck him harder, to hold him down against the mattress with those calloused hands and take what he wanted, he wanted John to be rough, and brilliant John gave him just that. He yowled as John bruised his hips in his tightened hold, hips piston forwards in fast thrusts, bollocks slapping against his plush posterior, the stinging pleasure of the slaps, and the blunt thick girth of John's cock rubbing all the right places deep inside him stimulated him in ways drugs couldn't. 

He felt owned and taken, to the every sense of the word.

John’s hands were firm against his skin, fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs, pushing them further towards his chest as he thrust harder; deeper inside of him. The pressure he felt building low in his abdomen was coiling tighter and tighter at every sharp snap of John’s hips, he clenched round John's cock and John made a rumbling groan that was absolutely masculine; the sound so feral and raw.

Sherlock cried out as John forced his cock deeper inside him, the place where they were joined stung, burning, yet it aroused him, and he urged John on faster with broken moans. He looked down to their joined bodies and stared at John’s prick disappearing into him, he keened at one vigorous thrust and lolled his head back against the pillows, the force of John’s thrusts rocking him up the bed, calloused hands pressing him down into the mattress, just the kind of sex he wanted. Rough and violent, pulling the moans rumbling in his chest from his throat.

John shushed as he cried out, fingers digging into the doctor's biceps, “J- _John_ … _i’m! mhn!"_ hecould manage no further as John answered his unspoken plea by picking up the pace of his thrusts, angling ever so precisely over the sweet spot in him, rubbing against it over again and again; he was aware of himself sprouting unintelligible words yet the sound of it managed to spur John on.

His hands faltered, and he relented by grappling at the bed sheets below him, fisting it in a hold as he arched his back, lifting his hips up further with the pillow under his bum to meet John in mid-thrust, spreading his thighs open to accommodate John’s moving form between them; the squelching sounds of their copulating loud in his ears.

The drag of John’s prick stretching his hole open was filthy and vulgar, but John’s kisses were deep and passionate. Laced with so much emotion he didn't know if it was even possible, he felt the bland affection, the concern and so much more unspoken promises John wanted to say but couldn't bring across in words.

It was overwhelming and for once, Sherlock didn’t mind, he couldn’t think of anything else, not when John is thrusting into him, filling him, making his body tingle and shiver with so much pleasure that his arms shook, “ _J-Johnn! I’-m! G-oin’-P-pwease! J-Joohn!"_

John groaned loudly at the lisp in Sherlock’s moan, leaning down to kiss that opened mouth, he muffled those moans and whimpers with his lips and tongue; breathing in sharply with his nose.

_Of sex, sweat, and the faint scent of Sherlock's ridiculously expensive shampoo._

Sherlock’s eyes were lidded and he could see a film of tears wetting his long eyelashes, clumping them together in a line of dark contrast, the swirl of colors and dilation of pupils as Sherlock gazed at him through fluttering lashes, moaning into the kiss at a hard thrust.

Breaking the kiss with a wet smack of lips, John reached down between their joined bodies to wrap a hand around Sherlock’s neglected prick only to have his hand batted away,

Biting out words through his whimpers, Sherlock moaned, “ _I-unh! W-will ...C-ome! Aahn! Fr-om..Nnh! M-J-JO-NH!"_

And at one precise brush against the swollen surface, Sherlock saw a blur of colors as he arched, head thrown back against the pillows, coming onto his stomach in jerky spurts of white; John’s name lingering at the tip of his tongue, the intonation bitten off by a strangled moan of unbridled toe curling pleasure.

John has seen many beautiful people who shared his bed reach that height of euphoric ecstasy, but there was nothing more erotic than seeing Sherlock come undone. The way soft dark curls cascaded over the white pillow case like silk ribbons, flattered by the red flush in his cheeks and the sharp angles of his cheekbones, pouty kissed swollen lips parted in a bitten off moan of his name, long violinist fingers grasping the bed sheets, trembling. 

The sight accompanied with the feeling of Sherlock convulsing around his prick was enough to bring him over the edge. With a guttural groan and a vigorous thrust, John trembled as he came deep inside; thrusting weakly as he rode out the shivers.

For a minute, Sherlock didn’t move and John almost assumed he passed out. But Sherlock murmured something softly, fingers loosening its hold on the sheets as he lowered his legs down onto the bed. 

“You okay?” John asked as he eased himself out, feeling weirdly protective and possessive when a small dribble of semen trailed out of Sherlock’s still twitching hole.

Sherlock squirmed at the tingling sensation and giggled, his body humming with endorphins, his overactive mind still shuffling to come back online. 

John went still, amused.

“Did I manage to break you?” John teased; Sherlock hummed and turned onto his side, rolling off the stained pillow to the other side of the bed to lie on his stomach, “Sherlock?”

“Hmm?” Sherlock hummed in acknowledgement, closing his eyes as his mind palace flickered back online, like a computer he did a mental start-up check, but the release of neurochemicals made him a little drowsy and lazy. He huffed in slight annoyance and randomly shuffled through his mind palace halls, opening doors and cabinets. Everything seemed to be in order. Then as he was about to exit, his mind pinged a notification.

A sudden epiphany.

The experiment he slaved over for weeks, a solution. He could divide the chemicals into 2 parts and then combine them together after measuring the right amounts of nitroglycerin from the intravenous solution and oral tablets. _Yes. Excellent._ But shan't let John know about it. Building a possible homemade bomb in the middle of the kitchen is a big no-no, and that he used John's name to prescribe those tablets and solution to himself, another big no-no. He grinned to himself. 

“Towel. Need to clean up,” John said, pushing at Sherlock’s pliant body, manoeuvring him over onto his back to wipe off the drying semen stains, as soon as he was done, Sherlock flopped over onto his stomach once again, “Are you going to sleep?”

Sherlock snuffed into the pillow, making a show to accumulate John's affections just in case his experiment does go wrong, so when John does get angry with him later, he will remember how lovely he is, yes. He really is a genius. He smiled softly and drawled, “Tired. Sleepy…Johnn…”

John chuckled, unaware of the ploy Sherlock is plotting, he noted the small smile gracing Sherlock's lips and he unknowingly mistaken it as a sign of content, he affectionately ran a hand through the mop of thick dark curls, enjoying the silky softness between his fingers, “I’m here.”

Sherlock cracked an eye open and patted the empty space beside him, almost coyly, he asked, “Take a nap with me?”

“Sherlock Holmes wants to take a nap? I must be going mad,” John teased, but laid down nonetheless, his remark earning him a sharp jab to his arm, “Right, sorry. Forgive me.”

“Hmph.” Sherlock huffed, rubbing his face into the pillow, throwing an arm over John’s bare chest as he mumbled into the pillow. _'If you liked it, then you should have put a ring on it.'_ Beyonce sang in his head. Sherlock harrumphed, his mind executing a list to win John's heart.

“Sorry, I didn’t get that. Say it again?”

His mind pinged. _Plot execution number 2:_ _Re-enforce relationship status._ Right, so John wouldn't be too mad later on, "Will you be my-”

“Yes.”

Sherlock frowned, “I haven’t finished.”

“No matter, I’m yours. And you’re mine,” John smiled, “Would you like that?”

Sherlock giggled, _yes. Success!_ and snuffled into his pillow, “Yes please.” He felt movements beside him and then he yelped loudly as John laughed.

John pinched his bum. Hard.

“I’ve always wanted to do that!”

“JOHN! It hurts!” Sherlock yelled, all plots thrown out of mind.

“Need me to soothe it for you?”

“Yes.”

“Come, I’ll give it a little rub…Is it better now? You have a lovely posterior.”

“Yes… No! Don’t stop. Hmph! Of course my bum is lovely. It's mine.”

“Heh.”

“What’s so funny? It hurts, look! It’s red!”

“That’s not the only place that is red…For instance, your cock is a lovely pinkish red color and-”

“John…you’re a pervert.”

“Yes. Rest assured I’m only a pervert to you.”

“Hmph! Wait. Where are you putting your hands? Wait! John! I’m still sore! Wha-?!”

“Lemme rub it better.”

“Rub  _what_  better?! No! J-Jo _hnn_! Ah! Wait! What are you doing down there?”

“I never said I’ll use my hands…”

“John? AH!  _OH!_   _J-John! OH! Y-you!_ ”

“Heh."

**Author's Note:**

> THE END!  
> Yeah...I get that Sherlock is a little OOC.  
> But, hey. There's sex to offset it. I tried to make it better.  
> The smut part too. I tried to make it, good. I hope it was good.


End file.
